They Weren't There
by Hermia LaFaye
Summary: Rose doesn't notice, but someone else does.
1. Prologue

A/N: This is linked in a small way to my other fic 'Wish Fulfilment' and expands on some of the themes introduced there. I'm quite excited by this little posting because it means I've actually started the fic that has been bouncing around my head for the past few months and 'Turn Left' has given me the boost I needed to start, so stay with me please. I am determined to see this idea through. (By the way, is there a brave soul who will beta for me??). Well enough from me, enjoy this short introduction.

They Weren't There

'_You breathed infinity into my world and time was lost up in a cloud and in a whirl' Missy Higgins 'They Weren't There'_

She didn't age, didn't get sick or injure easily, she noticed things other people didn't, understood concepts in moments that others around her took weeks and months to get to get to grips with. She didn't think anything of it, not at first anyway and when she did wonder all she could was theorize. Maybe it was all a by product of travelling with the Doctor, maybe his brilliance had rubbed off on her, maybe being exposed to all those alien atmospheres had done something to her immune system. Thought that maybe her moisturizer was actually working, or maybe a combination of good genes and clean living were helping to stave off the wrinkles. No she didn't think anything of it, but somebody else did and they planned.

She still went on field missions and with over twenty years experience she was one of the best and even though they kept trying to promote her, no one could tie her to an office chair and a title. That was the way she wanted it.

She had faced Sontarans, Cyberman, Exans and even Curtalians and her and her team always came out on top and Rose Tyler always came home. Except for that one Friday night, she went out for some chips for her and her Mum, but she didn't come home that night, or the next or even the next.


	2. Chapter One

Disclaimer: I really wish I owned this, but I don't, if I did though, brown suit Doctor would not have looked like he did in the last scene in 'Journey's End'.

A/N: Okay this is half way beta-ed, as MissPrufrock has gone on holiday along with her awesome skills. But, I wanted to post this and will edit out the bad bits later, (feel free to point things out as you read). This has become a bit of an epic and has taken over my life, I have an ending written to prove that I can get to that point, I'm working on the middle as we speak. So have at it, and, just in case, the prologue is here: community./timeandchips/5042014.html

They Weren't There: Chapter One

Continuity gives us roots; change gives us branches, letting us stretch and grow and reach new heights. Pauline R. Kezer

Rose walked down the empty street, the sound of her boots as they thudded against the pavement echoing off of the surrounding buildings. The only other sound was the distant roar of the traffic from a nearby motorway. The air was clear, and the sky above her twinkled with the light of a thousand stars. Steam rose from the open packet of chips that she was happily working her way through.

Rose sighed. It was in moments like this that she missed him the most. It was always in the little things - when she had Jaffa Cakes with her tea (he always did that), whenever she saw a banana, whenever she ate chips. They were all remainders of the bits they shared in - between all the running and saving the universe. The times when it was just the two of them, sitting around in the TARDIS kitchen, drinking tea and eating biscuits, regrouping after their latest escapee. Walking round in various branches of Tescos, arguing over which time period was the company's heyday (he swore it was in the early days with the local shop keeper, the personal element. She, on the other hand, loved the intergalactic era of the company), or adding yet another entry onto their Universal Blog, dedicated to the search for the Universe's best chip shop; they had quite the following, they'd even had a meet and greet once in a chippie on Oberon 5.

Even now, after all these years, she could still hear him. He would have been chattering away about something or the other whilst simultaneously stealing her chips (despite the fact that five minutes earlier he'd have insisted that he wasn't hungry). She would let him get away with swiping a few, before swatting him on the back of the hand and telling him to get his own. She would then have been on the receiving end of one of his puppy dog looks, against which she had no real defence. She would melt just a little inside and offer him her chips once more. Then he'd smile triumphantly, and continue eating what was supposed to be her dinner with gusto. No one stole her chips any more. Although she was, for all intents and purposes, reasonably content with the life she had carved for herself in this universe, she knew that she'd swap it all in a heartbeat to have one last adventure with the skinny alien who stole her chips, and more besides.

She was nearly home when she felt the pain explode in the back of her head - pain beyond any that she had never known. Mercifully she only felt it for a moment, before darkness consumed her.

It was a well-known fact that in the last twenty years, the British Empire had undergone a massive change, both socially and economically. The incident with Cybus Industries had taught the world and all its governments some hard, yet invaluable lessons - Britain, most of all.

One of the first things to be implemented was strict human rights legislation, and on the heels of this, a welfare system to help the most vulnerable of society. The Government was determined to make sure that no one could be taken advantage of for lack of food, heat or shelter again. This was paid for by the seizure of Cybus Industries and its patents by the Government. This move was felt by many to be an apt ending for the company.

Business dealings became transparent and became a matter of public record. Any scientific research that took place was subject to strict legislation, with regular government checks to ensure that all was as it should be.

The public also became more wary of technology, and with the public's aversion to the blue tooth headsets, the magazine industry soared. Jackie Tyler became a household name, and was the subject of many a column.

Communities bonded together in the wake of their mutual loss and devastation to help each other in their grief. Overall, things worked well. People prospered, and the gap between rich and poor gradually closed. They called it Britain's 'Golden Age'.

Inevitably, though, there were those who argued against the new order. Businessmen, scientists and political activists fought against the changes, and lobbied Parliament countless times to reverse them, to allow greater freedom for themselves and others affected. Parliament, however, was immovable, and all they had to do was to simply point to the countless memorials dedicated to the millions lost, and the lobbyists were instantly defeated. In the end though, as before, those who would not comply simply went underground, conducting their questionable dealings and research with even more questionable methods away from prying eyes. One such man was Professor Luke Rattigan.

A genius in his own right, he had graduated high school at fifteen, and had gone on to study medicine at Harvard Medical School, managing to fast track his course so that he qualified as a doctor by the age of twenty.

That was when he had met Professor John Sullan and SETI.

It was the day before his graduation when, at a meeting with his tutor, he had been introduced to the Professor. They offered him an exciting career with great prospects, learning things that no one would ever dream of. He had, naturally, jumped at the chance, and over the next ten years, been mentored by the Professor, eventually earning his Doctorate and becoming a recognized expert in the field of Xenobiology. Luke loved it - the joy of the unknown, the thrill of being the first to know. His job led him all over the United States, Mexico and Canada, working with SETI. It was after the debacle with Cybus Industries that he was first introduced to Torchwood in Britain and Europe, and it was there that he met Rose Tyler.

He had been working at the London Torchwood within their medical research division for a month before he had been introduced to her. He heard about her, of course, long before that. Stories of her exploits haunted the halls of Torchwood. She was their resident first contact expert, and apparently the stuff of legends. Upon hearing this, he had scoffed. He had seen her picture on the board in the staff room; she was barely out of adolescence. To him, she was just some little upstart of a girl - what did ishe/i know about anything?

It was at the end of his first week, as he stared out of the staff room window at the retreating spaceship, that he was forced to rethink his opinion of Rose Tyler and decided that she did, indeed, know a thing or two. In fact, he decided, she was entirely too clever - her knowledge of aliens was far beyond anything he had ever encountered before. She would have a plan worked out and put into action while everyone around her was still doing headless chicken impressions. She could name and figure out artefacts when all the others were stumped. In fact, the unknown bin in Archiving had (unofficially) been christened 'Rose's Bin'. For some unfathomable reason, it was pink.

It was on his official introduction tour by the Torchwood director Peter Tyler, (which, for one reason or another, was a month late) that he finally met the infamous Rose Tyler. He had been ushered into the lobby of Torchwood Towers, Mr Tyler introducing him to anyone unfortunate enough to cross their path, when Rose Tyler and her team walked through the door. Mr Tyler, spotting them, beckoned them over.

"And this is Alpha team. They're the best of the best, led by my lovely daughter, Rose. She's our first contact specialist," the Director announced proudly, gesturing towards one of the helmeted team members. "Rose, come and meet Professor Rattigan."

Recognizing the more infamous of the Tylers from her picture in the staff room, he watched as she approached; she looked even younger in person. Still, he held out his hand to her, "Miss Tyler. Nice to meet you," he said politely.

"Pleased to meet you too, Professor Rattigan." She moved her helmet to her other side to free up her hand. "Always nice to see a new face." She shook his hand.

He had always prided himself on his sense of touch, it was one of the reasons he had come as far as he had. His ability to discern the differences in the flesh, the subtle nuances in temperatures and textures from one being to another. This is what set him apart from the others in his field.

Her hand felt different to any human he'd ever encountered. For one, it was cooler, and there was no sign of perspiration, despite the fact that it was twenty degrees outside and she had been wearing heavy duty gloves up until a moment ago. The texture of the hand felt almost impervious, with nothing of the familiar graininess that he had come to associate with the human skin. In fact, it felt smooth, and oddly featureless. It felt alien.

Before he quite knew what had happened, Peter Tyler had bustled him off and introduced him to yet another person. Still reeling from the strangeness of her handshake, he was surprised he actually managed to say hello to them at all.

A few days later, he had still not managed to shake off the sensation of Rose Tyler's handshake. It had him gripped, and his mind was going round in circles trying to make sense of it all. So he did what all good academics did when confronted with a mystery; he researched. And what he found fuelled the fires of his compulsion even more.

Oh, there were records of her; school records, college and university results. Prior to 2002 and the Cybermen incident though, there was little or no detail to what he found. He even went so far as to ask some of her supposed former classmates about her, not one of them remembered her prior to 2002. It was as if she had just appeared here. He had also studied pictures of her from over the years. Apart from a few hairstyle changes, she had not aged a day. No procedure or product was that good; he should know. His wife had spent enough of his money on them and they had never worked for her. He decided to try one last test; he would shake her hand again.

It was a week later and a poor excuse regarding the origin of a piece of medical equipment that he had randomly picked up in the lab, that he finally managed to shake her hand again. It felt the same. He set to work. It took him a week to collate all the information he had acquired into a recognisable format and another week in order to go before his superiors at SETI in Roswell, New Mexico.

He leaned back against the wall of the deserted corridor, papers strewn around his feet where he had thrown them down in a fit of rage. His arguments had been rejected and crushed, not one of them was willing to see the truth, or the very present danger that was Rose Tyler.

Feeling a well of frustration and rage rise up within him, he kicked a nearby door. The resulting pain in his foot only served to distract him for a moment. He sighed, and, knowing that there was nothing he could do for the moment, he bent down and began to gather his papers. He didn't hear the footsteps as they came up behind him, and, jumped when a hand settled on his shoulder. He turned round, only to see his old mentor Professor John Sullen standing behind him. He stood up, facing him.

"Professor." He stuck out his hand. "It's so nice to see you again. How are you?"

The Professor grasped his hand. "Luke. I'm very well, but how many times must I tell you to call me John?"

Luke half shrugged. "Sorry, John. Old habits die hard. What brings you here?"

The Professor looked at him for a moment. "I heard about your meeting, Luke, and I know what they said. But I know you wouldn't have come this far without good reason, so let's go grab some coffee, and we can talk."

Luke, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders, nodded and followed the Professor as they walked out of the building together.

The Professor drove them out of the compound and onto the freeway, driving for quite some time until they came to an appropriately deserted truck stop. The Professor parked the car and led Luke into the small diner. Briefly stopping at the counter, he ordered two coffees and led Luke to one of the booths toward the back of the diner where they would not be disturbed.

Luke looked around him, observing his fellow occupants, he stuck out like a sore thumb dressed in his tailored suit. He pulled off his jacket and tie, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and opened the top few buttons of his shirt, making himself feel mildly better. Thanking the waitress as she gave him his coffee, he grasped the mug and took a sip. He closed his eyes, letting the bitter flavour wash over his taste buds and sighed as the warmth filled his belly.

"They really don't make coffee like this in England." He said, opening his eyes and looking at the Professor, "It's all I can do not to spend all my money in Starbucks, even then though, it's still not the same."

The Professor rolled his mug in between his hands and chuckled, "I was in London last year; it was only a stopover flying back from Beijing, but you're right, the coffee was awful." He paused momentarily and took another sip from his cup, "But then again, I've heard some of the English guys back in the lab say that we can't make decent tea to save our lives. Do you remember Douglas Cook?"

"Didn't he work with you for on the collaboration project with UNIT for Project Indigo?"

The Professor nodded. "Yeah, he did, smart fellow. He transferred over to UNIT when our part of the research was completed. Anyway, every week the guy used to get care packages from his sister full of English teabags and something called Marmite. I tried it once, it tasted like something you would use to clean dishes with," he chuckled. "But we didn't come here to reflect on our cultural observations on our British cousins. Why don't you tell me what you've found?"

The Professor watched as Luke drained his cup and then seemed to shrink into the seat, tiredness and weariness evident on his features. He motioned over to the waitress for a refill. Luke smiled gratefully at him, he thanked the waitress and when she was back behind the counter, Luke spoke. "I wouldn't even know where to start," he sighed, resting his face against his hands.

"Why don't you tell me what sparked this whole thing off and we'll go from there?"

Luke sat back in his seat and took a sip from his cup and began to tell the Professor the story of Rose Tyler.

It was an hour later when he had finally finished his tale. The Professor was sat back in his seat, a contemplative look on his features as he observed Luke. Leaning forward in his seat, he spoke.

"Your story is an interesting one Luke, and, the fact that you have come this far -" he motioned toward the stack of papers that was now spread across the table, " -Collating evidence, setting up meetings with the management and even coming with me here. It's you at your best Luke, but what I want to know is; are you prepared to go just that one bit further?"

Luke screwed his face in puzzlement for a moment, "What do you mean?" He paused, and then slowly realisation spread over his features. He leaned away from the Professor with a horrified expression. "But that's...that's illegal, we can't do that!" He ran his hands through his hair, then leaned closer to the Professor, "If anyone even thought we were stepping outside the research legislation, we'd be imprisoned indefinitely. To actually go through with something like that." He paused, shaking his head. "If they caught us, they'd kill us. You saw what they did to Professor Van Raine." He hissed, his voice low so as not to draw attention to them.

"Luke, you know as well as I do that no one is going to act on what you've found. I mean, Rose Tyler; the darling of Torchwood, an alien? It's ridiculous." The Professor leant forward and grasped his hand. "Luke, there are ways in which we can go about what you proposed to the managers at SETI, and, I'm prepared to do this with you. But that'll mean going outside of their jurisdiction and you've got to decide if you're willing to take that risk."

Luke opened his mouth as if to reply, but the Professor held up his hand and continued. "Just… just think about it, because once we do this there will be no going back. Let's say no more about this for now. I'll drive you home, and you can let me know what you decide."

Luke could only nod, the magnitude of the thoughts running round his head proving too much for him at that moment. His head was so full that it was only as he put his key in the front door of his house that he even realised he had been driven home.

Luke spent the next week trying to process all that the Professor had put to him. Could he really do it? Could he really go that far? He spent hours going over and over the notes he had gathered, thinking out different scenarios in his head. He barely slept, tossing and turning as his mind refused to let him rest. His wife banished him to the spare room after the second night of disrupted sleep. Not that he minded; she snored like a Hippo with a sinus problem.

It was at the end of the week, as he went over his proposal for what seemed like the millionth time, that it hit him. He could do it; he had already made the step of going before his managers. He could take that next step without them. He had friends and resources and the Professor had agreed to help him. He picked up the phone and dialled.

The next few weeks passed in a blur, the Professor and he made plans and soon everything was set in place. It was as they set up the examination room in that the Professor asked Luke one last time; "Are you sure about this, Luke? We can always stop. You don't have to do this."

Luke looked at the Professor, studying him for a moment. He shook his head. "No, I'm sure, we can't stop now." The Professor's tight smile and a perfunctory nod was the only response he received. No more was said on the subject.

They followed her, marking out her movements and routine, trying to find the most opportune time. Whenever he saw her with her family, Luke ignored the feelings of nausea that would rise up in his stomach, clamping down on his emotions and focusing only on her alien-ness.

It was time. They were alone. Luke watched her as she walked down the street. He was almost disappointed that she didn't notice his presence, because then maybe he wouldn't have to do what he was about to do. He swallowed nervously and his hand shook as he released the safety on the handgun. Looking up, he took aim - and fired.


	3. Chapter Two

They Weren't There: Chapter Two

Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who, although sometimes I really wish I did.

They Weren't There: Chapter Two

_'It takes a lot of courage to release the familiar and seemingly secure, to embrace the new. But there is no real security in what is no longer meaningful. There is more security in the adventurous and exciting, for in movement there is life, and in change there is power.'_ - Alan Cohen

_The darkness is ebbing, giving way to golden light, and to a song. She knows change is coming; she's not worried. This was always how it was meant to be. The light is comforting, and for the first time in… oh,so long, she feels at home, even if she knows this respite will not last. She knows that she has a long journey ahead of her, and the_ things _she will see… But until then, she lets herself drift - happy, safe… and loved._

Jackie Tyler sat at the kitchen table, staring blankly into space, an untouched cup of stone cold tea enclosed in her hands. Tony had been asking where his big sister was - again - and she had tried to explain it to him. Really she had. But every time she looked into his big blue eyes, her throat choked up. She just couldn't do it to him; to envelop him in the depression that had settled in their once happy household. So all she could tell him was that Rose would be home soon and hope, that in his innocence that he wouldn't question her. She couldn't face that conversation, not yet. He'd asked her that same question every day for the past week - a week when the memories of other times when Rose was either missing or doing God-knows-what clouded round her head. In this state she didn't know whether she was coming or going. Eventually pushing all her thoughts aside, she had settled into a state of shocked numbness, barely saying anything to anyone apart from her son. He took all the energy she had. She preferred it this way. She remembered all the sleepless nights from that first year, dreaming of what may or may not have happened to her beloved daughter. The stress and the tears, the countless visits from the police, and the pitying looks she had received from all her neighbours as she passed them in the stairwell, their sudden silence saying everything. She knew that Rose would never willingly do that to her again; she had promised after the incident in Bosnia in her early days at Torchwood. Rose had only been missing for a week, but it had been enough to unsettle Jackie so much so that she had nearly miscarried - Rose was everything to her. Now she was always careful to give her at least some indication of her wellbeing, even if it was only the occasional text message. This gave Jackie the security that she needed; as long as Rose was okay, nothing else mattered. This was not like those other times; she had heard nothing and, she truly feared, for the first time in her life, that her daughter wasn't going to come home.

Luke smiled. Every day that passed seemed to ease the tight feeling inside his stomach. It had been a week now, and no one had come after them. To think; they had planned and orchestrated such a seemingly impossible feat. They had taken Rose Tyler right out of the street, and no one had seen them, no one had pointed the finger at him. It was a heady, powerful feeling; he felt almost godlike. But he didn't allow himself to dwell on what he had actually done. To admit to himself that he had killed Pete Tyler's daughter - Pete Tyler, the _head of Torchwood - _in cold blood. Well… to acknowledge that would have been to undermine his entire belief system. _He_ wasn't a killer, not like the monsters he saw on the news sometimes. _They_ disgusted him and they deserved everything they got, to take life in such a way was barbaric. No. Not Luke. What he and the Professor had done - it was a simple scientific process. Nothing more, nothing less.

He pulled into the car park of the NOAA Cooperative Laboratory, which was located in a business park on the outskirts of Oxford. The laboratory was owned by a friend of the professor's, who, as a sympathiser to the scientists who had protested against the stringent research laws, often let those scientists use the facilities at the laboratory. It was an ideal place, really. The company that owned the lab specialized in research into fungal growths for bathroom cleaners, and the Government wasn't really concerned with such things.

He made his way through reception and downstairs to the lower ground floor lab, which he and the professor had been given for their use. They had been careful not to go to the lab too often in this past week so as not to arouse suspicion. They had put the body in the deep freeze, and then over the past week conducted low level tests on her blood, hair and skin cells. The results had been surprising, yet confirmed his original suspicions.

The mere sight of her blood in the test tube was enough was enough to convince him that his instincts had served him well. Instead of the normal deep red hue of human blood, the colour was darker, with a slightly orange tint. The viscosity of the blood was higher as well, with a greater red cell count. Her DNA was a goldmine of evidence, but completely impossible to decipher. The only information they had manage to uncover was the presence of a triple helix. Aside from that, there was only that her skin held an incredibly sweet smell, even after being in the freezer for over a week, with the presence of extra subdural and subcutaneous layers.

Luke entered the lab and made his way over to the tests that he had set running the previous night. He smiled as he looked over the results; things were coming along nicely. Hearing the door to the lab open, he looked up. Seeing the professor, Luke smiled in greeting and passed him the results that he had been reading over. The professor slipped his glasses on and read through the paper.

"Well, Luke, it seems that these results only serve to strengthen your hypothesis. It appears that you were right about Ms Tyler. You've done some good work here," he praised, patting Luke on the shoulder.

Despite the fact that Luke was well into his forties, he still couldn't help the smile that spread over his face at this. After all, you were never too old to be praised by your mentors. Pulling away, he began to rummage round the lab, arranging equipment and straightening things that he had left untidy in his tiredness the night before.

"So - have you heard anything?" he asked tentatively, his gaze firmly fixed upon the various instruments that he was rearranging on a tray.

The professor picked up on his meaning straight away; he was eager to start the dissection. Truth be told, he was as well. The results of the tests had done nothing to allay his patience. But it paid to be careful in the current climate. It was only last week that they had heard the news of yet another scientist executed for conducting illegal research. He came to stand beside Luke and stopped his fiddling with a glare. Luke looked up to meet his gaze.

"No. The police aren't treating Ms Tyler's disappearance as suspicious. It seems that this isn't the first time she has vanished for no apparent reason. I've asked one of my sources high up in Torchwood who owed me a favour, and it seems to be the same there. The thing is, they haven't been able to find any indication of foul play." He smiled grimly. "You should be proud of yourself, Luke. Many a man would have been found out before now."

Luke chose to ignore the professor's words. The full facts of what he had done had yet to sink in. He was well and truly taking a trip up the River Nile in the interests of scientific investigation, and was perfectly happy to stay where he was, taking in the sights. He went back to fiddling with the instruments that were spread out on the tray.

"So - does that mean we can start?" he asked cautiously.

The professor sighed. "Yes, Luke. I think it does."

Luke fought the urge to grin, but his enthusiastic bounce as he made his way over to the freezer gave him away. The professor chuckled and followed him.

Excitement and the thrill of discovery overtook them both, and they worked well into the night, collating and then examining each new discovery, debating on what the implications would be of their findings. They found themselves becoming more and more excited. Eventually, as with all human bodies, their limitations stopped them from working through the whole the night, and it was with great reluctance that they admitted their need for sleep, and finally headed home.

_She lay there in the darkness, frost forming on her fingertips. There was a brief flicker of golden light beneath the skin of her left hand, and the smallest twitch of her thumb. And then, once more, she was still. _

Rose woke up to face an unfamiliar, orange-coloured sky. She sat up, and looked around for a moment, wondering briefly where her chips were. But then she dismissed the thought; she wasn't where she was supposed to be, and in the grand scheme of things, the location of her chips wasn't that important. She got up and looked around. She was on a hilltop, and the ground beneath her was covered with red grass, which was soft and springy underfoot. In the distance she could see a towering city, bright against the sky. For some odd reason, it seemed as though it was enclosed within what seemed to be a bubble. She let her gaze wander a bit more. Towards the other side of the city, there was what appeared to be a forest. Instead of the normal green leaf that she associated with trees, the leaves seemed to be of a silver colour. It was when the sun hit them that she really appreciated their beauty, they seemed to dance with silver firelight, and she almost cried out at the sight of it.

Wherever she was, it wasn't on Earth, that much was certain. But at that moment, that didn't matter. She was somewhere new and it was brilliant. She never thought she would be lucky enough to set foot on alien soil again, after being torn from the Doctor's side. Feeling the familiar tingle of excitement creep up in her gut - she'd almost forgotten about that part - she whooped, and raced down the hill toward the city. She had some exploring to do, and she was grateful she was wearing her combat boots.


	4. Chapter Three

A/N Sorry this has taken so long, real life has kind of taken over in recent weeks. But, I am not abandoning this story.

Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, I wish I did though.

They Weren't There: Chapter Three

****

"With the sleep of dreams, comes nightmares" William Shakespeare

Mickey walked back into his office, careful not to spill any of the scalding hot tea from the two cups he was holding onto himself. He put one on the desk, and then looked over at the emerald green, fern-like plant that taken up residence in the corner of his office. Sighing, he walked over and began to pour the hot tea into the soil. The leaves on the plant started to rustle, and a leaf brushed itself along his outstretched arm - a silent caress of thanks. Or so Jake had said, anyway. Mickey fought the urge to shudder. It wasn't that he didn't like the plant; it was just that he found it... odd.

The plant had been recovered in a raid that Alpha team had done on a house up in Bethnal Green, and it had originally been placed into artefacts for cataloguing. But - lo and behold - come Monday morning, the plant had somehow taken up residence in Mickey's office. He had asked around, but nobody had had any idea how it had got there. Consequently, the plant had been taken back down to artefacts. Somehow though, it kept finding its way back into Mickey's office. It had got to the point where he was checking the CCTV for the identity of the culprit; but to his eternal frustration, he didn't find one. The only conclusion he could come to was that the plant was somehow managing to make its way back up to his office by itself.

He had argued with the lab guys for a week, tried to move the plant several more times and had requested an office move. Only once he had moved offices, he discovered that the plant had moved with him. Jake had laughed, but he didn't think it was funny - being stalked by a potted fern. The situation reminded him too much of the over-enthusiastic shrub that he had found in his bed during his first night on the TARDIS. He had woken to find it wrapped around him, squeezing him tightly and, in his half awake state he had panicked. His screams had brought the Doctor and Rose running into his room like the proverbial bats out of hell. They had both collapsed in laughter, and had gently prised the fern from around him. But, despite their reassurances that Gerald (Yes, they had named the plant Gerald) was simply saying hello, he had been put off all things green for life.

It was a week later that he had finally admitted defeat, and let the plant stay in the corner of his office. It had been checked over by the boffins down in Biology, and been declared harmless. It was another week, after constantly finding his tea going missing, that he had finally figured out what the plant ate. It really irked him; he had to contribute double to the tea fund.

Popping the mug onto the filing cabinet so that he could pick it up on his way out, he sat down, staring at the ominous stacks of paper and files that seemed to have usurped his actual desk these days. Ignoring the majority of them, he reached for the only file that had held his attention this past week, simply labelled 'TW1-BT11602-E1WAL-RT01'.

Over his years at Torchwood, he had seen thousands, if not millions of similarly labelled files, and they had never been anything more than part of a standard cataloguing system. This label, though - this insignificant set of letters - seemed to represent something infinitely more. These were personal; they were Rose. Taking a sip of his tea, he leaned forward and did the same thing that he had done every day for the past week; he opened the file, and began to read.

It was an hour later, and he was in the same position that he had been in when first he'd started. He had read through the file four times, in the hope that he might make a connection, find a pattern; anything that could give them to answer to what had happened to Rose. He was usually good at this kind of thing; he was the go-to guy of Alpha team. This though, this had everyone stumped. He knew he was just torturing himself, but he needed to feel like he was doing something; anything to keep his mind from dwelling on his best friend's fate. He had a feeling that if he did, he'd be sat in the Tyler's kitchen, right next to Jackie.

He had been to see her the other day, to check up on the family - see how they were all doing. Tony was at a friend's, and Pete was at Torchwood, trying to distract himself from the pain of a much loved girl who had become like a daughter to him. The house had felt like a graveyard and Jackie had been sat in the kitchen looking - for all intents and purposes - like an epitaph, a memory of what once had been. He tried to talk to her, get her to respond. But all she had done was stare into space. He hadn't stayed long.

There was simply nothing for them to go on; no evidence of foul play, no leads. They had retraced her last known steps from the chippy through to her usual route home, and sent forensics down to see if they could find anything. But the rainfall the day following her disappearance had wiped away evidence that would have been there. Even so, forensics had taken a look, and predictably, there had been nothing.

They had even launched an appeal through the London Borough Police in the hopes of somebody's having seen her. She was Rose Tyler, the Vitex heiress; her face was everywhere. Again though, there was nothing. The chip shop owner had recalled seeing her, and an elderly woman had come forward stating that she had sighted her in Wapping Lane, near Tower Hamlets, eating chips. That had been the last time anyone had seen her.

It was almost as if she had vanished off of the face of the Earth.

They had all entertained the notion that maybe the Doctor had come along and whisked her away in his flying blue box. It would have been typical of him just to waltz in after all these years as if nothing had happened, demand a cup of tea from Jackie, call him Rickey the Idiot, and regale them all with some tall tale or another. Mickey would never admit it, but there were times when even he missed the Doctor. Life had always been on the right side of interesting with him around.

All of them knew that even though many years had passed since that dark day in Norway, and that Rose had settled somewhat into life here in Pete's World, a very large part of her had been left behind in their original universe with the Doctor. Mickey should know; they had both worked on that damned dimension cannon on and off for five years before Rose had called it quits. He'd chosen not to bring up the fact that he knew the schematics were still in the bottom drawer of her desk, and not in the archives department where they belonged.

Despite this knowledge, Mickey knew that if that had happened, Rose would at the very least have called her mum to say goodbye.

He closed the file and sighed; there was nothing more he could do here tonight. He would be torturing himself trying to do anything more. It would be best for him to go home and sleep on it; maybe looking at it with fresh eyes would bring him some kind of revelation. In the back of his mind, he knew that maybe this was a fruitless hope, but he needed that. He needed to believe that he could make a connection and bring his friend home.

He proceeded to gather his stuff together to go home. Zipping up his bag, he heard the door to his office open. He looked up and smiled in greeting as Jake entered.

"Hey, you about ready to go?" his boyfriend asked cheerily.

"Yeah, just gotta wash my cups," he answered.

Jake watched as Mickey grabbed the two cups and walked out the door. Taking the opportunity, he sat down at Mickey's desk to have a brief nosey through some of his partner's case notes, smiling at some of the more amusing ones.

The case where Faltos 5's ambassador to Earth's tour round a local university, where he had inadvertently caused a streaking epidemic was among the files, it had been all over the news for weeks. Nudey Tuesday, they had called it. They had later found out it had all been down to the ambassador's allergic reaction to the material in his security badge.

He flipped through a few more, and stopped as he came across a very familiar case number. Rose Tyler's disappearance. He briefly skimmed the file; it seemed that Mickey was looking over the case himself. He didn't blame Mickey in the least, and it wasn't as if he hadn't been doing the same thing himself. It was Beta team's case; Alpha team (the team that Mickey and he were on and that Rose was head of) had not been assigned the case, due to the emotional attachment that several of the team had toward the subject. It was a Torchwood policy, but it didn't stop them from reading over the case notes. Gavin Russell, the head of Beta team, understood this, and actually welcomed any new insights into the case that the Alpha team members could offer him.

He closed the file, popping it back in its place on Mickey's desk - he has seen enough of it for one day - then turned his attention to his favourite thing in Mickey's office. Besides Mickey, that is.

Bobbing down beside the green plant in the corner, he reached into the leafy mass, finding the stems and beginning to stroke the plant. He had discovered the plant fondness for physical touch in its first week in Mickey's office. He and Rose had been teasing Mickey on his almost comic refusal to acknowledge the thing. It was in a rather exaggerated tirade that he had gone over to the plant and started stroking the stem.

_"Mickey, look, I'm touching it! I'm touching the plant, do ya think it's gonna eat me?"_

The joke had been on him when the plant had wrapped it's leaves round his hands, and the stem started vibrating under his touch. He had never jumped so high in his life, Rose had even drawn her gun and had it aimed at the plant. There had been a pause when they waited, before he had approached the plant again and rubbed his hand experimentally along the stem. Again, the same reaction, he had laughed in delight and cooed at the plant. Mickey had some payback, and had teased Rose for weeks about the fact that she had drawn her firearm on a fern. He smiled at the memory. It wasn't long before the plant had surrounded him with its leaves, and was rustling with happiness.

"There ya go, Fred. Mickey's mean, isn't he? Not showing you any affection?" he cooed, then smiled as the plant rustled in agreement.

He was still cooing and stroking the plant when Mickey came back into the office. "What are you doing with that thing?" he asked in disgust.

"Oh, shut up. Just because you don't like Fred, doesn't mean no one else does," he admonished playfully. "It wouldn't kill you to show him some affection every now and then, would it?"

Mickey groaned; this was a long-standing disagreement between Jake and himself. "Whatever. I still can't believe you called it Fred, though," he grouched.

Jake ignored Mickey and, slipping a few sugar lumps into the plant's soil, he got up.

"You've been looking at Rose's file." Mickey just grunted. Jake rolled his eyes. "You find anything?"

"Nope," Mickey answered abruptly.

Jake nodded. "Same here. Bloody frustrating."

Mickey didn't deem to answer, staying silent, his fists tightening around the handles of his backpack momentarily before slipping it onto his back.

Jake, seeing this, came to stand in front of Mickey and wrapped his arms around him, drawing the other man into a hug.

"We'll find her, Mickey. We always do," he said reassuringly.

"Yeah." He paused. "But what if this time we don't?"

Jake shook his head. "No. Don't think like that. We've been in worse situations before, and we always come out on top. Why should this be any different?"

Mickey squeezed Jake briefly, thankful that he wasn't alone in this. "Dunno. Just feels different. Like summat's changed," he said wearily.

Jake, not knowing how to answer this, dropped a kiss onto Mickey's forehead and let go of him.

"Come on, let's go home. I think we could both do with some beer, pizza, and mindless telly." He moved towards the door.

Mickey smiled weakly and followed Jake out of the office, turning off the lights as he went. Neither of them noticed the small, coral-like structure that had suddenly found a place on top of Mickey's filing cabinet.

Rose shivered; the air was growing colder, and she was only wearing a polo shirt and combat trousers, both of which were not exactly conducive to keeping in the heat.

She looked up at the sky. It was growing darker. She didn't know how long she had been walking for; she had lost herself in the wonder of seeing a new world for the first time in over ten years. It was as she had taken in this new world, this new world which she had inexplicably found herself on, that something had niggled at her.

It had taken her a while to work it out, but… apart from the occasional gust of wind brushing through the leaves of the surrounding trees, she had heard nothing. No birds, no insects; no signs of life whatsoever. This unsettled her slightly, and she hoped that as she got closer to the city this would change.

Oddly though, she had the feeling that it wouldn't.

The flat was shrouded in darkness. In the quiet there was a gentle rustling of cotton sheets, as one of the occupants of the king-sized bed shifted restlessly, caught up in a dream world.

He was standing on a street corner and, looking around, he recognised the familiar buildings of Wapping Road. He heard footsteps coming toward him. Turning, he saw Rose walking towards him, popping chips into her mouth. He tried to speak, to say something to her - that he had missed her, that he wished she were home, or at work with them. But he found his tongue frozen, unable to utter a sound. What the hell was going on here?

He watched as the scene shifted around him; Rose was still walking, but now they were in unfamiliar surroundings. He looked around, trying to place their location. The only thing that stood out on the street itself was a poster, advertising a concert for 'Bad Moon Rising', a punk band that he heard occasionally on the radio while driving to work.

He looked back toward Rose. She was ambling along, seemingly without a care in the world - he smiled at that. It was a rare occurrence for Rose to look like that, more often than not she had a faraway look on her face, as if she wished she was elsewhere. Then the smile fell from his face, as he saw a figure approach in the distance behind her. It looked as if he was following Rose, but she hadn't noticed his presence. He couldn't see the figure's face; it was too dark and the street lighting was abysmal in this part of London. He saw the figure fumble in a pocket, reaching for something - although he couldn't be sure...

Then Mickey felt horror curl in his gut, as he saw the unmistakable aspect of a gun in the figure's hand. He should know, he'd worked with them for years. The figure raised the gun, aiming it straight at Rose's head. Mickey tried to move, tried to shout, tried to do anything. God, why couldn't he move? What was wrong with him? He couldn't just stand by and watch this happen.

But no matter how hard he tried, he was stuck, unable to move, unable to do a damned thing - and it killed him. He felt a rising panic as he saw the figure start to screw the silencer onto the barrel of the gun. His panic increased tenfold as he saw the figure cock the barrel and take aim. He tried once more to move, to do anything, his breath coming in short bursts now as he started to hyperventilate. His heart was racing as he saw the figure take aim at the back of Rose's head. He dimly noted that this guy's stance and posture indicated that he was well trained.

His heart stopped as he heard the muted pop of the gun as it fired.

His gut clenched as Rose's head ricocheted backwards from the force of the shot, the plastic bag falling to the floor as her hands opened. Then Rose herself - crumpling to floor, blood starting to seep from the back of her head, staining her hair as it flowed from the wound and started to cover the pavement. He couldn't breathe, couldn't move; he felt hysteria rise within him; there was so much blood. But with no outlet it simply built up inside him, like pressure inside a steamer. He felt dizzy; the world spun around him, colours colliding. His stomach lurched.

And then his eyes opened. It took a few seconds for him to get his bearings. He was panting slightly and his heart was racing ten to the dozen. He jumped as he felt an arm wrap around him, and then relaxed as the familiar timbre of Jake's voice filling his ear.

"You okay?" Jake asked sleepily. "You were thrashing around in your sleep. Kept on kept mumbling."

Mickey sighed. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a nightmare."

"Wanna talk about it?" Jake asked, his voice muffled by the pillow that he was burrowing his head into. Mickey knew that it wouldn't be long before he would be out like a light. Jake wasn't good at the whole talking in the middle of the night thing.

"No, it's okay, I'll talk to you about it in the morning. I'm just gonna get some water," he said, patting Jake gently on the arm.

"'Kay," Jake murmured, already well on his way to dreamland.

Mickey dropped a quick kiss on his boyfriend's brow, slipped out of bed, and made his way to the bathroom down the hall.

Once inside, he picked up the glass from the windowsill and filled it with water from the tap. He drained the glass, drinking in great gulps. Rinsing it out, he placed it back on the windowsill and rubbed his hands over his face, almost as if he was trying to physically shift the nightmarish image of Rose's body from his mind. He looked in the mirror and examined his face; there were bags under his eyes a general world-weariness in his countenance. He sighed. Maybe he had read her file one too many times for his mind to cope with. Maybe his mind was trying to give him the answers he was seeking. Nice answers, he thought glumly.

His brow furrowed at he looked at the windowsill. That was new - just when did they get a coral ornament for the bathroom? He picked it up, feeling the rough texture grate against the skin of his palm. Well, he mused as he placed it back on the windowsill, it wasn't out of keeping with the whole bathroom theme.

Deciding that sleep wasn't going to be happening for him tonight, he quickly grabbed the quilt from the spare room and made his way downstairs. Once he had dumped the quilt on the sofa, he went into the kitchen and made himself a cup of tea. He popped a DVD into the machine in the hopes that watching some telly would take his mind off of the nightmare that was still fresh in his head. Whilst the TV shows in this Universe weren't as good as they had been in his universe, (Lord, he missed 'Blackadder') there were still a few that he found amusing. 'Wheels and Legs', a satirical comedy based around an aging, yet brilliant, wheelchair-bound detective and his bumbling, yet more able-bodied, partner was one of them.

Sipping his tea, he let the sights and sounds of the television wash over him. His eyes felt heavy, and the cotton of the quilt cover rubbed comfortingly against the skin of his legs as he snuggled into the sofa. His body felt boneless. Then, the loving hands of sleep reached out, surrounded him and pulled him under.

He wasn't on the street anymore; he was in a cold, metallic-looking room. It occurred to him as he looked around that this room was not dissimilar to the morgue back at Torchwood One. A queasy feeling settled in his stomach; he really didn't want to be here. He hated morgues, especially the ones at Torchwood. It happened far too often that he found himself down there, formally identifying yet another dead team-mate. Rose tried to keep the task from him as often as she could; but as with all things, there were times when she simply wasn't available, and the task fell to him, as second-in-command.

The sound of a door opening pulled him from his musings. Two figures walked into the room - both unrecognisable; they were just blurry shapes against the structure of the room. They moved silently, seemingly gliding from one spot to another. The only sounds were the muffled scratches of what could have been pieces of conversation between the two. Only he couldn't tell what they were saying; it was as though he were listening to a record being played backwards through a door in a noisy hallway. He tried to make to process something, anything, from what he was hearing. But, there was nothing, it was just empty sound. Like one of Jake's classical CDs, and he hated those things.

The figures moved to one of the freezer compartments that lined the back wall of the room, and he went to stand beside the two in an effort to see what they were doing. One of the figures reached for the compartment in front of him and he instinctively moved back to allow them the room to open it.

One of the figures pulled at the drawer, the clanking of the metal as it opened the only clear sound in the room. He recoiled in horror as he saw what was hidden within the compartment.

It was Rose. His Rose - his best friend, and she had just been stored away like some slab of cold meat. She was pale, almost blue, and there was the occasional lick of frost on her body. It was almost as if she had been enveloped by the breath of winter, preserved by a fresh snow. He'd seen innumerable amounts of dead bodies in his time, including some that had preserved by ice, and they all looked the same. They all had an air of emptiness about them; there was a nothingness that seem to inhabit them and surround them. It made him want to back away in most cases, as if by being close to them he would be sucked into that emptiness. With Rose though, there was no emptiness. Instead, she looked almost otherworldly, and, dare he say it, beautiful.

He moved closer, reaching out a shaking hand out to touch her. But before he could, she was moved off the slab of the freezer compartment and onto a gurney, the blurry shapes securing her with ropes. The gurney was then moved into the centre of the room. The figures moved around her attaching wires and tubes. One of the figures moved away from Rose and began opening bottles. The familiar smell of formaldehyde hit him in the back of the throat; he swallowed automatically, trying to clear the acrid taste that was tormenting his senses.

He saw the figures moving trolleys closer to the gurney, the hum of their voices growing louder. It was as if they were excited. Catching a glance at some of the instruments on the trolleys, his stomach clenched in horror. There were chisels, a skull breaker and key, bone saws, a brain knife and rib shears. Various jars and labels littered another trolley; preserving solutions in various stages of preparation on another. He knew what this was.

This wasn't an autopsy; this was a dissection.

He wanted to scream, wanted to rage at them. This was _Rose_, not some experiment to be cut up and examined. He wanted to move, desperation clawed at his insides, demanding release. He felt his stomach clench and twist, feeling sick and dizzy. His breath coming in short bursts, he knew he was panicking, but what could he do. He struggled against invisible shackles, his eyes screwed up, tears now rolling down his cheeks, his mouth open in a silent cry of rage. But once more, he found himself silenced, his tongue unable to move. One of the figures held up a scalpel, and began to cut into his best friend's flesh.

Someone was crying, he could hear it. It wasn't until he opened his eyes and felt the wetness of his cheeks that he realised it was himself. He sat up on the sofa; the DVD had long since finished, and the room was bathed in the light from the static of the television screen. He wiped his eyes on his pyjama sleeve and took a deep breath, trying to instill some calm back into his body. After a few deep gulps of air, he felt mildly better. He could almost taste the lingering presence of the formaldehyde at the back of his throat. Glancing at the clock on the DVD player and seeing that it was close to six, he decided that his time would be better spent getting ready for work.

Using the remote to turn off the TV, he got up off of the sofa and gathered the quilt in his arms. It was then that he caught a glimpse of something on the coffee table - the coral from the bathroom. He picked it up, staring at it, confused by its presence. He didn't remember bringing it down with him, so what was it doing here?. But then again, he mused, he had been quite unsettled from his nightmare. He could have brought it downstairs with him earlier in his confused state of mind, and just hadn't realised what he had done.

Mickey sighed; that was the most logical explanation, and it was a 'Mickey' thing for him to do, as Jake would say.

Gripping the coral in his hand, he made his way upstairs, depositing the quilt back in the spare room and then to the bathroom. He placed the coral back on the windowsill and got into the shower. He had a feeling it was going to be one of those days.


End file.
